*,W . ... . f. .f >K 
 
 
 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 Sheltx ASl-STl 3 
 
 ..^^ 3) An 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
OFC 21 let 
 
Day Digrams 
 
o<^j2y2A>irz.^ptyC^ 
 
DflV Dt^Efl]W[S 
 
 BY 
 
 IDA ECKERT LAWRENCE 
 
 Aye, time may change but love is still the same- 
 A lamp whose light is never dim 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 " Little do men perceive what solitude is, nor how far it extendeth ; 
 for a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, 
 and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love." — Bacon 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 THE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY 
 
 1900 
 
TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 
 
 tJbrary cf CCBgrct% 
 Office cf thfc 
 
 Peglster of Copyflb'ht* 
 
 5i3 
 
 
 51026 
 
 copykight, 1899, 
 By Ida Eckert Lawrence. 
 
 SECOND COPY. 
 
Ocdtcatton. 
 
 To you who have watched this restless soul of mine through all 
 
 the gladsome days of sunshine, 
 
 and all the tempest-tossed nights of despair, 
 
 with tlie same unfaltering fidelity ; 
 
 To you who loved me, and reached out the hand of kindness or 
 
 called to me in sweet assurance 
 
 a-3 I toiled amid discouragements that have confounded 
 
 many stronger and wiser than I; 
 
 To you who taught me the light of faith and hope, 
 
 to measure hy lines of nobility, to count by deeds and worth; 
 
 To you who gave me a wealth of love 
 
 [ more prized than royal crowns of kings; 
 
 To you, dear father and mother, 
 let me inscribe these trifling lines of mine. 
 
 I. E. L. 
 (i) 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Some dreamy dreamers dream best, when 
 the senses are lulled by sleep, and the self 
 goes out into other realms of which we re- 
 member often a little, oftener nothing. Other 
 dreamers dream best with the senses awake, 
 eyes open, but seeing not, and the material- 
 ist says "we are looking into space," but 
 we remember all in these sweet, soulful tours 
 into the memories of the past, the evanescent 
 present or the iridescent future, and we call 
 these "day dreams." 
 
 If little I have added to the world's great 
 store, creditable to it or myself, if only a 
 few, by these lines of mine, are carried, as 
 by some talisman, to live again the happy 
 measured past, or feel one added delight in 
 all the dim unexplored future, I am well 
 repaid. 
 
 Some of these little ventures have "gone 
 (iii) 
 
the rounds of the press." I saw "Sweet- 
 heart of Mine" copied from the "Inter- 
 Ocean," in which it first appeared, into 
 twenty-one periodicals within the year, with 
 "Day Dreams," "I Never Slep' a Wink," 
 and "Monette" following closely, for which 
 appreciation and acknowledgment I am 
 most grateful. 
 
 If it is true, that there is as much pleas- 
 ure in pathos as in wit, I may hope to con- 
 tribute, in some measure at least, to the 
 pleasure of others, for — 
 
 The world 's not filled with roses, 
 The purtiest face may frown, 
 An' many have lost in battles won, 
 An' many-a good ship 's gone down. 
 
 I. E. L. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Sweetheart of Mine 9 
 
 We Three 11 
 
 I '11 Keep the Old Horse Shod 13 
 
 Enchantment 16 
 
 Beloved 17 
 
 I Never Slep' a Wink 19 
 
 Lines to a Sea-Gull 21 
 
 Way Down South 23 
 
 Pontiac's Lookout 25 
 
 Day Dreams 27 
 
 Sleep On, Little Boy 29 
 
 A Princess 32 
 
 We Pass 34 
 
 Revenge 35 
 
 My Queen 36 
 
 Monette 38 
 
 Payin' th' Mortgage 40 
 
 Beautiful Girl 46 
 
 Had I But Known 47 
 
 Uncle Josh's Soliloquy 49 
 
 How Canst Thou Sleep 52 
 
 Toots 54 
 
 The Way of the World 56 
 
 When Love Grows Cold 59 
 
 (V) 
 
vi e^onttnts. 
 
 Turning Gray 60 
 
 A Tale of the Meerschaum 61 
 
 Parting 63 
 
 Drifting 64 
 
 The Last Telegram 66 
 
 Retribution 68 
 
 The Sunflower 71 
 
 The First Kiss of Love 74 
 
 The Fatal Charm 76 
 
 A Memory 77 
 
 How Strange 79 
 
 Baby Tot 81 
 
 May 83 
 
 By Chance 85 
 
 Life 87 
 
 We Two 90 
 
 The Mad-Woman's Tale 91 
 
 The Wreck of the Maine 95 
 
 Vesuvius 101 
 
 Angel of Light Ill 
 
 Press Notices 113 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Portrait Frontispiece 
 
 Sweetheart of Mine 10 
 
 If in Some Magic Ship 16 
 
 At the Beach 21 
 
 'Way Down South 24 
 
 Day Dreams 27 
 
 Sleep on Little Boy 29 
 
 My Queen 36 
 
 A Minstrel I would Go 43 
 
 Far Out upon the Farm I Saw 46 
 
 I 'd Laugh as Now I Sigh 47 
 
 Baby Tot 81 
 
 They Say that I am Mad 91 
 
 I Saw Her Head where Mine 92 
 
 Vesuvius 101 
 
 Distorted Gods, Repulsive Torn 108 
 
 Thy Winding Sheet To-day Men Lift 110 
 
 (vii) 
 
iSircrlhndi <if urine. 
 
SWEETHEART OF MINE. 
 
 I dread to think, Sweetheart of mine, 
 
 That time shall ever be 
 When aught shall change that heart of thine, 
 
 That beats to-day for me. 
 
 I dread to think, ! love of mine, 
 
 That we may strangers be. 
 And passionless, those eyes divine, 
 
 As snow may fall on me. 
 
 And like the Gates of Troy, my heart 
 
 Shall lock her sorrows in ; 
 Nor all the faithless world without 
 
 Shall dwell where thou hast been. 
 
 I'll trust thee, ! Sweetheart of mine, 
 
 I know that I shall see 
 The desert bloom, the sun turn cold, 
 
 Ere thou be false to me. 
 
10 MxdzitthtKvt of ^itxje. 
 
 And when the silent winding years 
 Shall silver thy dear head, 
 
 When gay companions of thy youth 
 Have long since from thee fled, 
 
 Then think of me, when life is done, 
 And all the years have passed. 
 
 And may that memory cheer thy soul 
 And that joy be thy last. 
 
WE THREE. 
 
 We used to romp from morn' till night, 
 
 We waded in the clover ; 
 And in the deepest, widest pond 
 
 We threw poor patient Rover. 
 At night we cracked th' hickory-nuts — 
 
 Horse-shoe nails for a lever, 
 An' asked Ma' 'fore we went to bed 
 
 Could we all sleep togevver. 
 
 Sometimes we used to sit an' hear 
 
 Our grandma tell a story, 
 Of ghosts 'at walked without a head 
 
 An' some wuz old an' hoary ; 
 An' then we drew our rockers close, 
 
 No ghost should us three sever ; 
 We wouldn't stir a peg 'less we 
 
 Could all free sleep togevver. 
 
 When we grew up there lurked about 
 Some pallid phantom near me 
 
 An' stole the others one by one, 
 'Till none wuz left to cheer me. 
 11 
 
12 Wiz ^Uxtz, 
 
 An' all day long, when I'm alone, 
 I hear 'em calling ever — 
 
 To come an' share their lonely bed. 
 An' all free sleep togevver. 
 
I'LL KEEP THE OLD HORSE SHOD. 
 
 I never, never can forget that good old horse 
 
 of mine ; 
 How proud he was, and always loved to see 
 
 his harness shine. 
 And when I mounted on his back he champed 
 
 his bit in glee. 
 And, fleet as antelope or deer, he danced ofiE 
 
 merrily. 
 
 I'll not forget the journeys long that we have 
 
 made together. 
 Nor how he bared his face, alas ! in every 
 
 sort of weather. 
 Just that I might enjoy the heath, or breath 
 
 of morning vapor. 
 He'd rear and plunge to frighten me, and 
 
 cut a high-bred caper. 
 
 I always loved to see the foam that flecked 
 his breast like snow. 
 
 And see the muscles stretch and quake when- 
 e'er I bade him go. 
 
 13 
 
14 g'U ^tz%f Itz mxa %0xsz Slijcrd. 
 
 And, grander still, with whistle shrill, he 
 
 roamed the fields so free. 
 With nostrils red and eyes aflame that told 
 
 his ecstasy. 
 
 Oh, I'll remember all the steeps and glades 
 
 his feet have trod. 
 And for the sake of those sweet days I'll 
 
 keep the old horse shod. 
 Well groomed and fed, he shall not know 
 
 his usefulness is past ; 
 I'll hitch him to the plow, by times, and 
 
 love him to the last. 
 
 And when the old horse lays him down to 
 
 take his last drawn breath, 
 I'll hold his head, nor blush to speak and 
 
 tell him it is death. 
 And 'though the dear old tongue is dumb, 
 
 his eyes, to me, will speak. 
 And he will know I loved him, as my tears 
 
 bedew his cheek. 
 
 When o'er those glistening lakes I see a wild 
 weird image creep, 
 
 I'll gaze again — mine own, alas! are mir- 
 rored in that deep. 
 
I'll %ttxf tfeje mxa^ %tfx&z mi^a, 15 
 
 Oh ! eyes so dear, none can translate the 
 
 meaning of that gaze ; 
 I'll leave thee at the river's brink as oft in 
 
 other days. 
 
 Then let the Stygian waves roll on against 
 
 thy trembling breast ; 
 No hand shall e'er thy spirit curb, no lash 
 
 disturb thy rest ; 
 I'll mount thee once again, my steed, for 
 
 well I know, my own. 
 Thou 'It take me on that journey long into 
 
 the dim unknown. 
 
ENCHANTMENT. 
 
 Sonnet to J . 
 
 If in some magic ship I might ascend, 
 And float at my sweet will the wide world 
 
 free, 
 As swift as thought, so would I float to 
 thee, 
 And for thy graces I, alone, contend — 
 With Love, my unseen helper and my friend. 
 No other name holds such a countless 
 
 worth. 
 Nor binds with such a spell the earth- 
 Even heaven thro' this her glorious fires ex- 
 tend. 
 Beneath that Gonfalon I'll bravely stand. 
 Though disappointments rend my charm 'd 
 sails. 
 The God of Love enchantment shall com- 
 mand. 
 And I, an entranced dreamer, hear no 
 wails ; 
 And tho' a thousand storms my bark betide, 
 Content I rest, if thou art by my side. 
 
 16 
 
urij'l <^■^ llumijld^ .v,/ imiild J il,,iil la //„, 
 
BELOVED. 
 
 I sleep, beloved, yet in my sweetest dreams 
 
 One face I see, enrobed in loveliness ; 
 
 And with that star to guide my wandering 
 
 feet, 
 I'd dream, content, a thousand ages thro'. 
 Thy voice I hear, and all my soul awakes, 
 To search for thee the cadences of heaven ; 
 And finding thee, to take thee as my own — 
 Sweet minstrel mine, whose welcome glances 
 
 touch 
 A thousand strings to music in my soul. 
 The rosy dawn shines through my curtained 
 
 lids ; 
 Oh ! night ! Oh ! dreams ! more sweet than 
 
 daylight fair. 
 
 Yet, Love, again beneath thy cloak I press 
 This heart to thine, and hear the beatings 
 
 low. 
 That calls me like the moanings of the sea. 
 Thy lips to mine a heavenly flame inspires — 
 My soul comes back and laughs on thy warm 
 
 mouth, 
 
 17 
 
18 ^jeljcrujexl. 
 
 I gaze and see within thine eyes so deep 
 A slave of all thy loving fond desires. 
 And on the face of those pure, love-lit lakes 
 Truth, in her bark, a silent watcher sails. 
 Oh ! drift not from my vision, lest my heart,. 
 Bereft of soul that in thy keeping dwells, 
 A faithless, shipwrecked mariner becomes. 
 
I NEVER SLEP' A WINK. 
 
 I never slep' a wink, 
 
 Nor put thro' such a night, 
 The weird long hours kep' lengthenin', 
 
 Upon their mystic flight ; 
 The cats and mice kep' slippin' roun' ; 
 
 I wuz bewitched, I think — 
 I jes' lay thar an' shet my eyes — 
 
 I never slep' a wink. 
 
 Fust one thing an' another kum 
 
 An' made on' arthly sounds, 
 An' then th' baby wuz woke up 
 
 By th' yowlin' uv them hounds ; 
 Seems like 's ef suthin' other's wrong — 
 
 "What 'twas, I couldn't think ; 
 I hel' my breath a listenin' — 
 
 But I never slep' a wink. 
 
 Course, Pap will uv a mornin' — 
 
 An' I suppose its right — 
 Go toddlin' round a astin', 
 
 " How did you rest last night?" 
 
 19 
 
20 i ^jeujeie Sljey' a W&iinU. 
 
 He 'lowed I wuz a snorin', 
 
 Wen he got hisself a drink ; 
 He alius sez its tliat-a-way — 
 
 But I never slep' a wink. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 I 'm not, no use a talkin', 
 
 Peart as I used ter be ; 
 The girls an' boys an' Pap air gone — 
 
 It sort o' bothers me ; 
 But Pap sleeps on, sound as a log, 
 
 Down by the crick's green brink — 
 He '11 ast me that Great Mornin', 
 
 Ef I never slep' a wink. 
 
LINES TO A SEA-GULL. 
 
 Oh ! that I might dwell by the ocean, 
 And sit by the swift shifting sands, 
 
 To dream my fond dreams of devotion, 
 And press dear invisible hands. 
 
 There 's a voice, in the ocean so hoary, 
 A song in the surge of the sea — 
 
 Oh 1 that I could tell the sweet story 
 That something seems telling to me. 
 
 21 
 
22 %ints to a Sjca^^wH. 
 
 But that secret — no tongue can reveal it ; 
 
 That language, no mortal translate ; 
 The sea-god, for him who would steal it 
 
 Throws mist o'er the pages of fate. 
 
 "What heart could grow cold on the billows? 
 
 The winds that play over the deep 
 Would wake dying Love, from her pillow, 
 
 And lull bitter Hatred to sleep. 
 
 Then fly, ye proud gull, o'er the ocean. 
 And ride on the foam-crested sea ; 
 
 Thou surely hast felt the emotion 
 
 That 's swelling and throbbing in me. 
 
 Yes, go ! stately bird, who would hold thee 
 Away from thy heaven of rest? 
 
 And, oh ! may life's billows enfold me 
 As light as the foam on thy breast. 
 
V . 
 
 I^W^^'IPVP!' 
 
 'WAY DOWN SOUTH. 
 
 Where the moss and mistletoe, 
 Swing from live-oak branches low, 
 Rocked by zephyrs, to and fro, 
 Is 
 
 'Way 
 
 Down 
 
 South. 
 
 Where the soft gulf breezes blow, 
 
 Where the wild salt waters flow, 
 
 Where the sweetest flowers grow. 
 
 Is 
 
 'Way 
 
 Down 
 
 South. 
 23 
 
24 ^Wiuv( ^ovcn MoutJx, 
 
 Where the lazy brook, at play, 
 Sings a wanton roundelay — 
 Sweetheart, sweetheart all the day, 
 Is 
 
 'Way 
 
 Down 
 
 South. 
 
 Where day bursts with song so bright, 
 Where love floats like mellow light, 
 Dreaming, dreaming all the night, 
 Is 
 
 'Way 
 
 Down 
 
 South. 
 
PONTIAC'S LOOKOUT. 
 
 Pontiac, ah ! gentle chieftain, 
 
 I can hear thy footsteps still, 
 Coming forth to greet the sun-down 
 
 Through the hemlock on the hill. 
 
 On this favored spot, proud chieftain, 
 Eagle-like, from nature's dome, 
 
 Pontiac's keen eye swept earthward — 
 Watched the warrior o'er his home. 
 
 Far below, cold northern waters 
 Sang for measured music meet — 
 
 Songs the dusky maids might envy, 
 
 Songs, than night-birds' songs, more sweet. 
 
 Shade of Pontiac, dost thou wander 
 Midst the hemlock, spruce and pine, 
 
 Here at eventide to worship — 
 Here to watch the days decline ? 
 
 25 
 
26 ^0ttttajc's ^ooUtfvt. 
 
 Fare thee well, so may I wander 
 To life's gilded mountains tall, 
 
 When the eventide o'ertakes me, 
 When the day's last sunbeams fall. 
 
" 'V'/n sir/'cl lu fire, a ml lurr, (iiid drraiii. 
 
DAY DREAMS. 
 
 'Tis sweet to live, and love and dream 
 The dreams I dream of thee ; 
 
 'Tis sweet to feel in fancy love, 
 The touch of ecstasy. 
 
 And when the gentle morning comes, 
 And takes my dreams away, 
 
 I love to close my eyes once more 
 Just at the break of day. 
 
 And let my soul go out, alone. 
 
 To seek where'er thou art, 
 To wake thee from thy troubled sleep 
 
 And nestle near thy heart. 
 
 Then I can see thy manly form 
 
 In drowsy tremors rise. 
 And reach to grasp thy lady fair — 
 
 So close thy dreamy eyes. 
 
 27 
 
28 ga^ ^KtKIMS, 
 
 And like a blind man groping 'round, 
 
 A torrent in thy breast, 
 I hear thee murmer, then complain ; 
 
 "Who hath disturbed my rest?" 
 
 And then a gentleness serene 
 
 Lights up thy noble face. 
 A reverie steals over thee : 
 
 "Her soul was in this place." 
 
 My soul comes back — sweet messenger, 
 Between thy life and mine, 
 
 And you are there, and I am here, 
 Kneeling at Love's own shrine. 
 
SLEEP ON, LITTLE BOY. 
 
 Sleep on, little boy, for thy sorrow hath 
 vanished — 
 In dreamland thy soul 's fleeing now, far 
 away ; 
 The curtain, that hides the love-light of thy 
 brown eyes, 
 Shuts out from thy young life the cares 
 of the day. 
 
 29 
 
30 Mltzp 0% %mXz lofH. 
 
 Sleep on, little boy, tho' thy heart it was 
 breaking, 
 "When off to thy soft couch thy weary feet 
 crept. 
 Sleep on, little boy, for the chill of De- 
 cember 
 Hath changed to June roses in dreams 
 as you slept. 
 
 Sleep on, little boy, for no harsh voice thou 
 hearest 
 In all the wild throng of thy play-fellows 
 now. 
 The sweet waves of joy and the echoes of 
 laughter 
 Thy mother is watching play over thy 
 brow. 
 
 Sleep on, little boy, for the world is before 
 thee 
 Thy frail little bark may the breakers be 
 nigh. 
 In the realms of the real thou mayst waken 
 to anguish — 
 Oh ! wretched the soul that hears not the 
 child's cry. 
 
MUtp on, gtttXe %civf, 31 
 
 Sleep on, little boy, and I would that, still 
 dreaming, 
 From life's battle-field I might bear thee 
 away. 
 On pinions of love, down the dim misty 
 future 
 To dream on forever thy dreams of to- 
 day. 
 
A PRINCESS. 
 
 There is a form, tho' masked by times, for- 
 ever round me steals — 
 She stares into my blanched face and chokes 
 
 me at my meals. 
 She goes through my house at leisure, and 
 
 never asks my leave, 
 She destroys my hours of pleasure, always 
 
 seeking to deceive ; 
 She's a sorceress without feeling, yet she 
 
 makes all others feel 
 With a kindlier, better feeling, and she 
 
 brings strong men to kneel. 
 She worked her pitiable plan e'en at the 
 
 earth's glad dawning. 
 And her bones sprang up in Eden on a filmy 
 
 balmy morning. 
 Still she makes me know my happiness, as 
 
 no one else could do ; 
 And health and wealth I prize far more, 
 
 since she has taught me to — 
 32 
 
Ji ^rincjess. 33 
 
 She has traveled o'er the universe and no 
 
 farthing does she pay, 
 And she crushes little children with her 
 
 garments on her way. 
 She's the guest of crowned emperors, yet he 
 
 pales before her face — 
 And she enters houses lowly — she has no 
 
 abiding place. 
 Yet her deeds go on forever, and she breaks 
 
 our morning dreams ; 
 And she holds us tempting pictures, free 
 
 from lust and worldly gleams. 
 She has gloated 'round the coffin, as the or- 
 phaned ones went by — 
 She has nestled in the bosom of the coldest 
 
 tyranny. 
 She's a curious, monstrous creature no place 
 
 bad enough to bar ; 
 Yet we could not do without her, sweetest 
 
 pleasures it would mar. 
 No one welcomes her, nor chides her, yet 
 
 she breaketh many a heart. 
 She's one of the very few of guests one meets 
 
 but cannot part. 
 She is one among the blessings that we can- 
 not lend nor borrow ; 
 She's a princess of all kingdoms, and we 
 
 only call her Sorrow. 
 
WE PASS. 
 
 A Fragment. 
 
 Like bubbles drifting down a stream, 
 Like fancies playing in a dream, 
 Like unknown barks passed out at sea. 
 No need that they remembered be — 
 So rolls the world along. 
 
 Like magic charm of woman's tears, 
 Like swiftly moving gilded years — 
 Like some sweet soul turned back to God,, 
 Ere half its pilgrimage were trod — 
 So strange, unknown, we pass. 
 84 
 
REVENGE. 
 
 Sonnet. 
 
 That in my heart a subtle image lay, 
 
 I knew not, 'till, by chance, I saw its form — 
 
 And on the field of Fate it led me thro' the 
 
 storm 
 More fearful than Achilles in dismay ; 
 And through that darkling cloud I sought 
 
 the day. 
 And one whom once I loved, of mask now 
 
 shorn, 
 Unsightly, groveling, of cruelty new-born — 
 In new disguise — a savage Hector lay. 
 Not on the field his wanton corse I sought — 
 Nor yet, to wrestle with vain words, to fling 
 His love words back to rankle and to sting, 
 To slay him in my life — in memory or 
 
 thought, 
 Never again to meet thro' ages wrought, 
 Sweet satisfaction this — Oh ! wake ! ye gods, 
 
 and sing ! 
 
 35 
 
MY QUEEN. 
 
 » Could I but touch one golden 
 chord 
 Of Arion's lyre or from the 
 Muse 
 One little favor steal, 
 I'd swell the world with music 
 
 sweet, 
 In rhythmic, stately measured 
 feet, 
 And sing in thrilling peal — 
 Not of the fairest I have seen, 
 But just my queen, my little 
 queen. 
 
 My Mother. 
 
 36 
 
pCjj ^itcrrt. 37 
 
 How like a sovereign love hath ruled, 
 How often chained, how often calmed 
 
 This fevered heart of mine. 
 How when the tempest thundered wild, 
 Close to her breast she hugged her child ; 
 
 Oh ! mother-love divine ! 
 Must Time's keen sickle ever glean 
 This loving heart, this uncrowned queen, 
 
 My Mother. 
 
 My panting heart is wearied now 
 
 With knocking long — nor lips nor tongue 
 
 Hath ever yet expressed 
 A mother's love. There is no tide, 
 Nor breakers on this ocean wide — 
 
 This is the Sea of Rest. 
 Oh ! boatman of the silver sheen. 
 Spare thou my queen, my little queen. 
 
 My Mother. 
 
MONETTE. 
 To F . 
 
 I was with you last night, Monette, 
 
 You held me to your heart ; 
 I gazed into your eyes, Monette, 
 
 Nor quailed beneath the dart. 
 
 I felt my blood surge warm, Monette, 
 
 I felt your pulses start — 
 To touch your trembling lips, Monette, 
 
 Struck fire within my heart. 
 
 You drank the red, red wine, Monette, 
 
 Your voice — a silver bell. 
 Oh, ne'er can I forget, Monette, 
 
 The hours we loved so well. 
 
 Then here's to th' days to come, Monette, 
 
 An' here's to a soul set free ; 
 To live, is to love and be loved, Monette ; 
 
 You are madly in love with me. 
 38 
 
pCjcrttjette. 39 
 
 "Just you and I on earth, Monette," 
 
 I said, with a savage gleam ; 
 "At last you are mine, my own, Monette." 
 
 Oh ! God, it was all a dream. 
 
PAYIN' TH' MORTGAGE. 
 
 They say I wuz a wild-eyed child 
 
 Wen my folks moved out West. 
 The country it was wild, too, then, 
 
 The soil was jes' the best — 
 And dad he bot a great big ranch 
 
 An' raised the bigges' corn ; 
 I used to wish I wuz a boy 
 
 To drive the cows at morn. 
 
 I rode the little bronchos then, 
 
 My dad had horses fine — 
 An' cattle roamin' on the plains 
 
 A thousan' at a time. 
 They rounded 'em, an' branded 'em, 
 
 An' he was happy then. 
 I followed him through fallow fields, 
 
 Thro' prairie, grain and glen. 
 40 
 
^a^fttt' tlx' pC0tt0aue. 41 
 
 When he wuz sad an' lonesome-like 
 
 An' everything wuz down, 
 An' all the grain upon the farm 
 
 "Wuz marketed in town, 
 He grieved alone an' thinner grew — 
 
 A mortgage wuz to pay — 
 An' 'twas n't any uv his debts 
 
 'At made his hair turn gray. 
 
 My dad was jes' the kindes' man. 
 
 His heart was big and true, 
 An' when a friend, well meanin'-like, 
 
 Ast, could he see him through. 
 With jes' the signin' of his name — 
 
 He signed it that same day — 
 An' that's the note that on the farm 
 
 A mortgage put to pay. 
 
 Ten years went by an' my ole dad 
 
 With the hard load wuz bent ; 
 It sort uv bothered the old man 
 
 To keep up the per cent ; 
 An' more 'an once, like Providence 
 
 Had put His finger in it. 
 Some poor old tenant paid his rent 
 
 An' saved him the last minute. 
 
42 i»a^in' tW ^oxtQKQZ, 
 
 Once I remember hearin' him 
 
 A Sunday mornin' pray 
 'At God would show him what to do 
 
 An' open up the way — 
 An' then he said he jes' felt sure 
 
 He'd sell some real estate 
 Afore the week was ended — Lord, 
 
 His faith wuz strong and great. 
 
 An' when the week wuz nearly done, 
 
 I never sez a word 
 About the Sunday mornin' prayer 
 
 'At I had overheard — 
 I got a check from dear old aunt — 
 
 Aunt Lizzie, way back East ; 
 I wonder ef she heard that prayer? 
 
 'Twas jes' the same at least. 
 
 My dad had lots uv friends, an' sich 
 
 To give him pert advice ; 
 Sayin' ef he didn't spect to fall 
 
 He mus' keep off the ice. 
 As ef the ole man's feelin's, now, 
 
 Were n't sad enough to see — 
 Jes' 'cause he hadn't any boy 
 
 It made a man uv me. 
 
".1 lililixircl I iVnilld ijii.' 
 
^aniti' tU' ^oxtQ:xQZ, 43 
 
 Well, I jes' kissed the dear sweet brow 
 
 An' said it were n't so bad — 
 For lots uv men had done much worse 
 
 Than loosin' all they had. 
 Ah, many a time he rescued me 
 
 From breakers on life's sea ; 
 An' never a night so cold an' dark 
 
 He didn't think uv me ; 
 
 An' to my bed he softly crept, 
 
 Put little hands at rest — 
 An' saved fer me at dinner time 
 
 The things 'at I liked best. 
 Then let my hair turn white with his, 
 
 To suffer makes me glad ; 
 I never knew I loved him so — 
 
 Lord ! how I love my dad ! 
 
 An' then the panic it kum on — 
 
 That was in ninety-three ; 
 Somehow we managed to keep straight — 
 
 'Twas hard on dad and me ; 
 But times grew steady once again. 
 
 As times they alius will — 
 Well, folks aint starvin' ef the wheat 's 
 
 A grindin' at the mill. 
 
44 ^ayitx' W '^oxtQKQi^, 
 
 An' 'tis n't alius to be dark 
 
 'Cause clouds is passin' by ; 
 One sees a good deal more uv heaven 
 
 A lookin' toward the sky. 
 So when the mist of eventide 
 
 Draws nigh the sounding bells, 
 The growing dewdrop to the flower 
 
 Her sweetest love-tale tells. 
 
 Well, dad an' I, we planned an' planned ; 
 
 I tried for many a place. 
 I think I had succeeded then 
 
 But for my pretty face. 
 I sometimes wished I wuz less fair. 
 
 That I my worth might prove — 
 How could I ever hope to pay 
 
 That mortgage off with love? 
 
 I wished that verses I could write, 
 
 A minstrel I would go — 
 Or paint the portraits of great men 
 
 Like Michael Angelo ; 
 Oh ! I would stem dramatic art 
 
 And fight for place and fame. 
 Fer days an' nights I saw the boards 
 
 Flame out with jes' my name ! 
 
"Far oni upon iliefartn I mir 
 Dad raJ:ing neic-inovn hay." 
 
^asiiti' tlx' ^JOKtQRQt. 45 
 
 An' all the gay world's giddy throng 
 
 "Were bowing at my feet — 
 But fancy woke — this nectared wine 
 
 I drank in fevered sleep. 
 Far out upon the farm I saw 
 
 Dad raking new-mown hay, 
 The sweetest perfume heaven can give 
 
 Blew in on me that day ; 
 
 An' inspiration, new, divine, 
 
 An' I sung on for days. 
 The old man sold the sweet new hay 
 
 An' I — I sold my lays. 
 We hugged the treasured gold and paid 
 
 The mortsage on the farm. 
 The old man said sech love of gold 
 
 He's sure could be no harm. 
 
 Now, dad an' I some day'll start 
 
 A partnership together 
 "With jes' love for the capital ; 
 
 I guess we'll stand the weather. 
 The old man's rich — to-day he told 
 
 Of mansions o'er the river ; 
 Streets paved with gold, where minstrels 
 sing 
 
 Forever and forever. 
 
BEAUTIFUL GIRL. 
 
 Beautiful girl, thine eyes are a flame — 
 Gay are thy footsteps and stately and 
 proud. 
 "Beautiful girl" is thine oft-spoken name ; 
 Lovers in paeans thy praises sing loud. 
 
 "Myriad" the names of the pleasures that 
 
 know thee, 
 
 Gay are the seasons with rapturous glee ; 
 
 From ambush that arch little traitor, young 
 
 Cupid, 
 
 Is shooting his arrows, proud beauty, at 
 
 thee. 
 
 46 
 
" rd huuili (IK iiDir r .'<i(j]i far tltre- 
 Ilud I hilt kiKiini.''' 
 
HAD I BUT KNOWN. 
 
 Had I but known the sorrow love can bring, 
 And how the words so wild and sweet 
 Can rankle like an adder's sting 
 When once we trust them not — 
 I would some other path have trod, 
 Tho' lone the way, with none but God, 
 And all the bliss of earth forgot — 
 Had I but known. 
 
 Had I but known the joys that had been 
 
 mine 
 If by the hand I hadst been led 
 Through vales of love, sweetheart divine, 
 Sweetheart of long ago — 
 I hear thee beg this heart to wait ; 
 But I had passed a closed gate 
 I might have wept that it was so — 
 Had I but known. 
 
 Had I but known, that in the coming years, 
 A phantom of the past would come 
 And drown my present with its tears, 
 47 
 
48 '^Kd 1 Itrt ^tt0ttrtx. 
 
 As comes a maddened sea ; 
 I would thy vows sweetheart believe, 
 I would thy loving soul receive, 
 And laugh as now I sigh for thee — 
 Had I but known. 
 
UNCLE JOSH'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 You may talk about the fusses 
 
 You had when you was young — 
 When all you knew you told to one 
 
 Who couldn't hold his tongue. 
 You spread the war-paint on fur fight, 
 
 Your face wuz every hue — 
 'Taint that 'at hurts you all the night 
 
 An' keeps a-grievin' you. 
 
 There 's lots in things to make you mad, 
 
 Ef you 're a lookin' fur 'em ; 
 There 's alius some one flirts the red 
 
 In front of every Durham ; 
 An' when the troubles o'er, you'll shake 
 
 An' joke with that same fellow — 
 'Taint that 'at careworn furrows make 
 
 Across your forehead mellow. 
 
 The meanest man you ever knew. 
 The meanest things can say ; 
 
 An' it may rile you for a while, 
 You're tranquil the next day. 
 49 
 
50 '^ttjcl;e %o&Xx*s 3otitcrxjnij. 
 
 'Taint that 'at makes the nights so long, 
 An' grieves you when you wake ; 
 
 'Taint that 'at haunts you all the day 
 Like shadows haunt the lake. 
 
 Tho' matador, with glittering lance. 
 
 Shall pierce the trembling bone, 
 He can not rend so deep a wound, 
 
 Nor wring so wild a groan, 
 As unkind words from those you love 
 
 Can crush your tremblin' heart — 
 'Tis that 'at kills the heaven-sent dove. 
 
 Breaks giant bonds apart. 
 
 Mos' every day you'll hear 'em, 
 
 Ef you 're listenin' fur to hear, 
 A-grievin' an' a tellin' it 
 
 In the Almighty's ear. 
 We dream we 're loved and love again. 
 
 And friendship lasting seems — 
 God help us bear the cruel pain 
 
 Uv all these waking dreams. 
 
 ♦ * * * 
 
 I calkerlate it 's better 
 
 Fur an ole man like me. 
 To tell a pore, young, tremblin' soul, 
 
 A-startin' on life's sea — 
 
The world 's not filled with roses, 
 The purtiest face may frown, 
 
 An' many have lost in battles won. 
 An' many-a good ship's gone down. 
 
HOW CANST THOU SLEEP? 
 
 How canst thou sleep, my own sweetheart. 
 
 While by your side I sit 
 
 And beg for Love's own sacred bread? 
 
 Dost thou not know this aching head 
 
 And heart are starving here — 
 
 How canst thou sleep? 
 
 How canst thou sleep, my own sweetheart^ 
 
 When all my soul goes out, 
 
 And like a beggar asking meat, 
 
 I ask but Love, than life more sweet? 
 
 Dost not this troubling tempest here 
 
 Disturb thy sleep? 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, my own sweetheart. 
 
 Some day thou wilt awake — 
 
 To hear in memory alone 
 
 This pleading sigh, this tearful groan — 
 
 With tattered wing, Love passed the bar — 
 
 While thou didst sleep. 
 
 52 
 
Pjcrw ©attst ^Uon MXzep? 53 
 
 My love awoke— come beggar mine — 
 
 And nestle by my side. 
 
 Sweet minstrel play — my heart-strings move 
 
 Attuned to thee, and life, and Love. 
 
 The bar still holds God's mystic dove — 
 
 How could I sleep ? 
 
 Sleep came not here — my own sweetheart. 
 And maybe 't was unkind, 
 To play a part in Morpheus' arms. 
 Unmindful of thy witching charms — 
 But now I know true Love's alarms 
 And I can sleep. 
 
TOOTS. 
 
 Once a little Tumpsum-Tuzzy 
 
 Came to my house after tea 
 
 And such yelling — 
 
 There's no telling — 
 
 Yet the folks all said that fuzzy 
 
 Red-faced yeller looked like me. 
 
 I remember how I started 
 
 'Cause I thought he couldn't see. 
 
 Such a-blinking — 
 
 And a-winking — 
 
 As the sunlit curtains parted ; 
 
 Yet that winker looked like me. 
 
 And the more that Ootsy-Tootsy 
 
 Cried for something, in his tea — 
 
 Midst my labors, 
 
 Still my neighbors, 
 
 As they tossed poor patient Wootsy 
 
 Said the fellow looked like me. 
 
 54 
 
gjaots. 55 
 
 Everybody tossed that baby 
 
 Just the face he made to see — 
 
 Such a-fumbling — 
 
 And a-mumbling — 
 
 'Till the child was frantic maybe ; 
 
 Still they said he looked like me. 
 
 Can you tell me how a yelling, 
 
 Red-faced, fuzzy, winker, wee 
 
 Pugnosed Ootsy, 
 
 Wootsy-Tootsy, 
 
 Screaming, kicking, love-repelling 
 
 Little tot, could look like me? 
 
THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Must ever some sadness, creep into the glad- 
 ness, 
 
 The poor human soul to dismay ; 
 To chain its endeavor, forever and ever, 
 
 'Till centuries pass in a day? 
 
 Tho' servile, base yearning, the souls of men 
 burning 
 Humanity still to enslave — 
 Promethean-bound mortal, oh ! speak ere 
 death's portal 
 Ye enter to rest in the grave. 
 
 And tell me, vain human, shall man and 
 shall woman 
 Injustice fight on to life's end? 
 Does wrong thus invite thee, oppression ex- 
 cite thee, 
 And thou the vile banquet attend? 
 
 56 
 
$Uz WidiVi of tUt WioxXd, 57 
 
 Hast thou not still burning, some small 
 flame returning 
 A-kindled around Galilee? 
 Tlio' shorn of thy graces, men's plaudits or 
 faces, 
 God's sun shines the same on that sea. 
 
 And is it so thrilling, to know ye are fill- 
 ing 
 
 A cup for another to drain — 
 To revel, forgetting the time of regretting,, 
 
 The time for to gather your grain ? 
 
 Contemplate thy spirit — the millions a-near 
 It, 
 
 The great heedless wniripool of strife — 
 And it of pleasure, so near a full measure, 
 
 To add to the burden of life. 
 
 Where sad eyelids glisten, the Silences lis- 
 ten, 
 And Night sets her sentinels there ; 
 From human endeavor, men's souls to dis- 
 sever, 
 And drive from the gates of dispair. 
 
58 ^feje Wiuvi of thje WLoxXA, 
 
 Oh ! soul, for life yearning, at last thou art 
 learning 
 To look where the angels have trod ; 
 Thy lot uncomplaining, thy wisdom thou 'rt 
 gaining, 
 When man walks alone with his God. 
 
WHEN LOVE GROWS COLD. 
 
 When love grows cold, 
 
 How like an avalanche I'll be, 
 Nor blush to crush the hearts of those 
 
 Once dearest unto me — 
 When love grows cold. 
 
 When love grows cold. 
 
 What monsters rise in human form — 
 Hell holds high court, insatiate, 
 
 Dark as a midnight storm — 
 When love grows cold. 
 
 When love grows cold, 
 
 In desperation and dismay. 
 We view the world, nor deem one soul 
 
 Fit tenant of its clay — 
 When love grows cold. 
 59 
 
TURNING GRAY. 
 
 "When your hair is turning gray 
 'T is a warning that the May 
 Of a happy life is past ; 
 Something glorious must be done, 
 Basking in a summer sun 
 Must not always last. 
 
 There may be some wrongs to right — 
 Some great darknsss turned to light, 
 Some poor heart made gay. 
 Clasp the outstretched trembling hand 
 With the weak and helpless stand 
 Midst the breakers grey. 
 
 Will our heads in other lands 
 Carry still the silver strands 
 Time hath measured here? 
 Will Love's sunshine slanting thro' 
 All the cups of life renew 
 In the after year? 
 
 60 
 
A TALE OF THE MEERSCHAUM. 
 
 In seventeen hundred and twenty-three, 
 On a shoemaker's bench in Hungary, 
 There sat an old man with a curious knack 
 Of carving with such an artistic whack 
 That he won the love of a Count. 
 
 One day as Count Andrassy happened to 
 
 roam 
 On a mission to Turkey, he brought with him 
 
 home 
 A curious relic, a white, porous clay, 
 With no further value, he said, but that they 
 
 Presented it unto a Count 
 
 So, languidly, lazily sauntering around, 
 
 He came to the shoemaker's place, under- 
 ground ; 
 
 Just dropped in awhile to gaze on his 
 art 
 
 And cheer with a word his old tireless 
 heart, 
 
 That always revived with the Count. 
 
 Gl 
 
62 ^ ^alje ot tlxje '^czxsch^um. 
 
 With jesting and chatting, the hours flew 
 
 away, 
 At parting the Count gave Kowatee the 
 
 clay — 
 His eyes twinkled merrily ; now he would 
 
 try 
 His long-pent-up artistic taste to descry 
 And divide up square with the Count. 
 
 The shoemaker toiled, in his old dingy room^ 
 Thro' the hours of the twilight, the hours of 
 
 the gloom — 
 And he puffed, and he puffed, with a sweet, 
 
 pure delight — 
 The rest of the long but to him blissful 
 
 night — 
 And he eagerly watched for the Count. 
 
 As he toiled with the thread and the wax the 
 next day 
 
 He smoked his new pipe of the pure meer- 
 schaum clay. 
 
 And the wax from his hand o'er the meer- 
 schaum spread warm 
 
 Giving polish and sweetness — a typical 
 charm — 
 
 And he gave a "meerschaum" to the Count. 
 
PARTING. 
 
 The pangs of death, I know, I feel, 
 
 Yet no transition see — 
 Shall immortality reveal 
 
 A truer life to me ? 
 
 All truth and hope the yearning heart 
 
 Tells in one tender glance ; 
 The lingering hand, the tears that start — 
 
 A soul unveiled by chance. 
 
 Should I no greater transport know 
 Than I 've known here so well ; 
 
 In parting, I have learned of heaven 
 And all I know of hell. 
 63 
 
DRIFTING. 
 
 Two boats that drifted down the stream, 
 
 The shady moorings grace ; 
 Two souls that dreamed the same fair dream 
 
 Are standing face to face. 
 
 The waters, like a cadence grand, 
 
 Roll rocks and breakers o'er ; 
 The waves break softly to the sand 
 
 A tale oft told before. 
 
 And each fond heart hears one sad song, 
 
 Sung by the fateful wave — 
 We 've waited long, we 've waited long, 
 
 No answer back they gave. 
 
 I dreamed thy place was by my side, 
 
 In visions, then, I see 
 A barrier rise, a heaving tide ; 
 
 Oh ! cruel destiny, 
 
 64 
 
^viftitXQ. 65 
 
 But we shall meet again, my own, 
 
 Out in a wider sea ; 
 In calmer ways, and skies unknown, 
 
 And you shall sail with me . 
 
 * * * % 
 
 Two little barks drift out apace, 
 Each on a stream alone ; 
 And the wind that brought them face to face 
 In the morning wild, with such tender grace, 
 A cadence sings of a dreamer's place ; 
 Oh ! blow ye wild-winds down Life's stream, 
 Fulfill the waiting lover's dream 
 And bring the wanderers home. 
 
THE LAST TELEGRAM. 
 
 Only a little boy, 
 On the street there ; 
 
 Only a little boy, 
 Willing to dare. 
 
 "Paper, sir; paper, sir;" 
 "Don't buy of Jim, 
 
 He aint no union chap, 
 Dat 's wot ails him." 
 
 Just a few papers left — 
 Hands cold and blue. 
 
 Old coat with buttons off, 
 Heart big and true. 
 
 Only a little boy 
 
 Passing so late. 
 Throwing a newspaper 
 
 Over the gate. 
 
 66 
 
^hje ^ast ^jeljegtam. 67 
 
 Tired are the little feet, 
 
 Turned back at last. 
 Glad the day's work is done — 
 
 This is thy last. 
 
 Only a little boy, 
 
 Dying alone ; 
 Saw a kind face at last 
 
 Close to his own. 
 
 I hear 'em singin' now 
 
 Songs 'bout th' Lamb — 
 'Er 'tis the boys calling 
 
 The last telegram. 
 
RETRIBUTION. 
 
 Thy conscience, proud tyrant, if loosed from 
 thy keeping, 
 Would call and revile thee and hold up 
 thy life, 
 'Till, like a soul in a world that is sleep- 
 ing, 
 Thy soul it would sink in the deluging 
 strife. 
 
 Oh I bravely you rose when fond fortune 
 upon thee 
 Forged tightly, so tightly, a proud father's 
 place ; 
 Thy sons shall yet scorn thee and blush at 
 the memory 
 That can, but alas ! tell a tale of disgrace. 
 
 Not 'till the last drop from the glass thou 
 hadst taken 
 And drank to another, oh ! foolish in- 
 
 grate, 
 
 68 
 
lLjCtt;itrtttijCrn. 69 
 
 Didst thy faithless soul and thy manhood 
 awaken, 
 A.nd turn to thy Helen, thy true, artless 
 mate. 
 
 Oh ! blame not tne soul of the tigress that, 
 
 sleeping, 
 Hath roused from her lethargy, roused 
 
 from her rest, 
 How long thou hadst only that soul in thy 
 
 keeping, 
 'Till bleeding and torn she fled from thy 
 
 breast. 
 
 Tho' conscience forsake thee, and shame 
 thou hadst never. 
 That out from thy mouth foul pollutions 
 be heard — 
 A swift retribution will follow thee ever. 
 Distract and confound, like some ill- 
 omened bird. 
 
 Thine own desperation, oh ! soul, thou hast 
 builded, 
 And on thy proud mate heaped the mount 
 of despair ; 
 Tho' Satan his temples hath lavishly gilded, 
 A' sick with remorse mayst thou enter 
 there ! 
 
70 %ctxibntiou. 
 
 Tho' chained with the fetters that still 
 clanked around her, 
 An exile from home and the ones she 
 loved best, 
 
 No cloud could dismay and no tempest con- 
 found her, 
 
 Resigned to her fate with the damned or the 
 blest. 
 
THE SUNFLOWER. 
 
 Oh ! the old sunflower ; oh ! the bright sun- 
 flower ; 
 
 First to God's sunlight to open, first to close 
 against the shower. 
 
 There 's no flower in the garden half so 
 sunny, glad and gay ; 
 
 There 's no flower of God's making half so 
 full of charity ; 
 
 For they crowd the dusty highways, serv- 
 ants they to each and all, 
 
 Decking high the ragged urchin and the 
 gilded palace hall. 
 
 Then open wide the window, and pull the 
 curtain high ; 
 
 Let me see the waving sunflower as the 
 summer days go by. 
 
 Oh ! the old sunflower ; oh ! the Kansas sun- 
 flower, 
 
 Waving millions in the breezes, golden sea 
 and golden hour. 
 71 
 
72 ^Uz Mxxnflowzt, 
 
 There 's no scene in all the landscape, there 's 
 
 no sight, more sweetly fair 
 Than a troop of pretty Buckeye girls with 
 
 sunflowers in their hair. 
 What a welcome to the stranger — words and 
 
 banners on the wall, 
 Of this golden, gorgeous flower, with a single 
 
 eye to all. 
 Then open wide the window, and pull the 
 
 curtain high ; 
 Let me see the waving sunflower as the 
 
 summer days go by. 
 
 Oh ! the old sunflower ; oh ! the tell-tale 
 
 flower ; 
 For sits the love-sick maiden down, all 
 
 heedless of the hour — 
 'Tis "one I love, and two I love, and three 
 
 I love I say" — 
 She tears the golden leaflets loose, and 
 
 throws them all away. 
 Ah ! what a naughty wicked flower ; yet 
 
 further she will delve. 
 To find the one that tells it right, with leaf- 
 lets even twelve. 
 Then open wide the window, and pull the 
 
 curtain high ; 
 Let me see the waving sunflower when the 
 
 autumn days are high. 
 
^llJC ^UUf XjCTMJreV. 73 
 
 Oh ! the old sunflower ; oh ! the blessed sun- 
 flower ; 
 
 Like little angels breathing benedictions 
 every hour. 
 
 When I am sad and lonely, buried deep in 
 gloom or care, 
 
 Lay a sunflower on my pillow, scatter sun- 
 flowers everywhere. 
 
 Gather sunflowers for my coffin, sunbright 
 mornings, evenings late — 
 
 May they grow along my journey ; may 
 they bloom at heaven's gate. 
 
 Then open wide the window, and pull the 
 curtain high ; 
 
 Let me see the waving sunflowers, when the 
 winter cometh nisrh. 
 
THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE. 
 
 Oh ! that kiss a fond remembrance 
 
 Brings of sweetest hours, 
 When my cup ran o'er in gladness 
 And I swooned nigh unto madness — 
 
 They were ours. 
 
 Does that vase one draught yet treasure 
 
 Of the vine, 
 That has grown so wild, secluded, 
 Fostered little, yet deluded, 
 
 Yours and mine? 
 
 Blame me not if memory kindles 
 
 Fire and flame — 
 By that kiss of thine, I 'm human. 
 None the less of heaven — a woman 
 
 Who could blame? 
 
 Who can blame, who once hath lingered 
 
 In the trance? 
 Who hath Love's fond heart felt beating 
 Thrilled with kisses and the greeting 
 
 And the glance? 
 
 74 
 
If thy dreams perchance of me, love, 
 
 "Wakest thee. 
 Nestle, dearest, close thy pillow. 
 For nor tempest, cloud nor billow 
 
 Troublest me. 
 
 Let the past eke like a shadow 
 
 'Bide the thought ; 
 Rough or smooth the sea we furrow. 
 Some of sunshine, some of sorrow, 
 
 It has brought. 
 
 Oh ! the star hath set forever 
 
 A' down the spheres — 
 And with light shall break the morning. 
 It is darkest ere the dawning 
 
 Through the years. 
 
THE FATAL CHARM. 
 
 'Twas morning, in tho forest grand, 
 We wandered lone — Love held my hand 
 -And gazed at me with eyes of light. 
 More beauteous than the stars of night. 
 Oh ! eyes, of light ! filled to their brim 
 With liquid fire time cannot dim. 
 I laughed, I scarce could hear the birds — 
 Yet oft reminded him his words, 
 Like curfew bells that call to rest. 
 Woke sleeping memories in my breast. 
 We passed beyond the farthest tree, 
 Where cupid sent a shaft at me. 
 We wandered in Elysian fields, 
 Where nature all her fullness yields. 
 And read life's tales from nature's books- 
 Love told me volumes in his looks. 
 I scarce could smile ; the cruel dart 
 Was rankling still within my heart. 
 The day passed on — 't was eventide — 
 The mortal wound I sought to hide. 
 I knew full well Love's kind alarm, 
 For I had passed the fatal charm, 
 While walking with my soul — my heart 
 I gave to him — we could not part. 
 
 76 
 
A MEMORY. 
 
 Yes, thou art near, so near, to night, 
 
 Oh ! loving heart and mine — 
 I see thine eyes, my love, my light, 
 
 As surely as 'twere thine. 
 For if thou smilest, I am glad ; 
 
 If thou art sad, I weep ; 
 If thou dost pray, look up and find 
 
 Me kneeling at thy feet. 
 
 Yes, thou art near, so near, to-night, 
 
 I feel thy fond caress ; 
 I hear thy voice, like vesper bells, 
 
 That children call to bless. 
 And thy thin hands I press again — 
 
 Oh ! touch of long ago — 
 In roguish glee, I wrench them free, 
 
 Yet would not have it so. 
 
 Yes ! thou art near, so near, to-night. 
 Thy lips to mine are pressed ; 
 
 And Hope steals in, a pleading waif, 
 Twixt me and my fond guest. 
 
78 ^ ^tmovis. 
 
 Oh ! if in dreams I ever steal 
 
 To rest me on thy breast, 
 Then clasp me as you did of yore, 
 
 And I shall surely rest. 
 
 Yes ! thou art near, so near, to-night, 
 
 Oh ! loving heart and mine — 
 I see thine eyes, my love, my light, 
 
 As surely as 't were thine ; 
 For if thou smilest, I am glad ; 
 
 If thou art sad, I weep ; 
 If thou dost pray, look up and find 
 
 Me kneeling at thy feet. 
 
HOW STRANGE. 
 
 How strange 't would be if from some other 
 sphere, 
 Bedecked in flowers and robes denied me 
 here, 
 I saw my cast-off house of senseless clay 
 A thing at last beloved upon the bier. 
 
 How strange 'twould be, if friends I long to 
 greet 
 Should come from far to lift my winding 
 sheet, 
 When I no more can raise the gladsome 
 hand, 
 How strange if joy 'twould bring them 
 thus to meet. 
 
 How strange 'twould be, so long to live 
 alone. 
 As one who, loving, has been all un- 
 known, 
 'Till death the soul has stripped from out 
 the mold. 
 Then round these coffined tatters hear a 
 groan. 
 
 79 
 
80 ^jcrttjr Stt;aiX0s. 
 
 How strange 'twould be, when I the air can 
 breast 
 No longer crave kind words to lull my 
 rest ; 
 If willing hands should toil to make my 
 bed, 
 A place more fair with flowers I love the 
 best. 
 
 How strange ' twould be, if praise I long to 
 hear 
 Should spoken be in my unknowing ear ; 
 To find at last Love's messengers set free 
 O'er my dull clay, when I 'm no longer 
 here. 
 
BABY TOT. 
 
 From things, that once I cherished most 
 
 In dreams of earthly bliss, 
 I turn aside the blinding host 
 
 For just one little kiss. 
 
 Pure eyes look deep into my own, 
 Earth swims in love like this ; 
 
 My heart this little prince's throne. 
 My purest gem his kiss. 
 
 And when my heart is bending low 
 The world is all amiss — 
 
 Of heavenly joys still one I know, 
 It is a baby-kiss. 
 
 81 
 
82 ^altjj ^ot. 
 
 A mine of treasure that sweet mouth, 
 
 A mint to coin my bliss ; 
 Like wooing wind that blows down south 
 
 That little fellow's kiss. 
 
MAY. 
 
 Lovely as sunbeams of morning, 
 Sweet as the breath of a rose, 
 Lilies her bosom adorning, 
 Calm as an angel's repose. 
 Was May, 
 
 Our beautiful May. 
 
 Lovely dark eyes had the maiden — 
 
 Eyes which the angels must woo — 
 Fell thro' the seasons, love-laden, 
 Friendships like heavenly dew — 
 For May, 
 
 Our beautiful May. 
 
 A day had been set for the wedding. 
 
 Oh ! had she not promised in vain — 
 Death came, gallant knight, to receive her, 
 The hand of the fair bride to claim, 
 Of May, 
 
 Our beautiful May. 
 
 83 
 
84 pCag. 
 
 She came like a halo of glory, 
 
 And passed as a vision away. 
 The bells — wedding-bells of sweet story- 
 Must toll for the bridegroom to-day, 
 And May, 
 
 Our beautiful May. 
 
 Oh ! many a heart's glowing promise 
 
 And joys that we treasure to-day, 
 To-morrow shall fall and lie buried 
 As sad and as silent as May, 
 As May, 
 
 Our beautiful May. 
 
BY CHANCE. 
 
 She was a pretty creature, 
 He was manly and strong, 
 
 And like a fateful magnet, 
 Something bore them along — 
 
 On to a kindlier feeling, 
 On to a lingering glance. 
 
 On to the same old story. 
 On to a game of chance. 
 
 Oh ! there are times of blindness- 
 Love has no eyes to see. 
 
 And like a rapid river, 
 
 It bears the drifters, free — 
 
 On to a riper knowledge, 
 On to a mad'ning race, 
 
 On to a joy exotic. 
 
 On to a dreamer's place. 
 
 85 
 
86 %vi (f^finncz. 
 
 Then in the sterner years to come, 
 Sin in her robes may laugh ; 
 
 But they will not forget the days 
 That crowded them, like chaff — 
 
 On to a life of sorrow. 
 
 On to a broken dream, 
 On to a clouded morrow, 
 
 On to a shoreless stream. 
 
 She with the roses withered, 
 He with a tottering form ; 
 
 Beauty and strength together 
 Beaten and blown by the storm — 
 
 On to a life that 's shipwrecked, 
 
 On to a sterner fate, 
 On to a haven never, 
 
 On to a sad "too late." 
 
LIFE. 
 
 Here we meet, 
 
 Here we greet 
 Same old friends. 
 
 Fancy lends 
 Some sweet face 
 
 Round the place- 
 Some sweet laugh, 
 
 Wheat and chaff. 
 Some sad sigh, 
 
 Let them die. 
 
 Life's a rose 
 
 At its close — 
 Drain the glass 
 
 As they pass. 
 Live to-day 
 
 Sad or gay. 
 Know no sorrow, 
 
 No to-morrow. 
 Time is flying, 
 
 Men are dying 
 87 
 
Like a rose 
 
 At its close — 
 Ask not why, 
 
 Let them die. 
 
 Like a rose, 
 
 At its close, 
 Withered, blown, 
 
 Leaflets flown, 
 Perfume breathing, 
 
 Scattering, seething, 
 Time distilling, 
 
 Heaven filling 
 Cups of others — 
 
 Men are brothers ; 
 Old and new, 
 
 False and true — 
 Striving, doing. 
 
 Loving, wooing. 
 
 Oft regretting. 
 
 Oft forgetting. 
 Trembling, toiling, 
 
 Begging, soiling. 
 Hoping, praying. 
 
 Love betraying, 
 
lifje. 89 
 
 Laughing, hating, 
 
 Dreaming, mating, 
 Blighting, thrilling, 
 
 Fighting, killing, 
 Smiling, winning. 
 
 Falling, sinning — 
 Madness rife, 
 
 This is life. 
 
 BSmSSSShSmES 
 
WE TWO. 
 
 Rest, rest, peaceful rest, 
 
 Where no wild wind chides me ; 
 Rest, rest on my breast, 
 
 There no storm betides me. 
 
 Let me sail the bonnie blue, 
 
 Thou mj pilot ever ; 
 On a sea of love, we two, 
 
 Hope to anchor, never. 
 90 
 
'And till II tli( 1/ sill/ J (ijii iinal.' 
 
THE MAD-WOMAN'S TALE. 
 
 You ask why I am here — friend, stay, 
 
 Sit down, and I will tell you — nay, 
 
 It may some time consume — a day — 
 
 Time passes thus. I start at dawn, 
 
 I wake, and, lo ! the years have gone. 
 
 Look at me here — I 'm not insane — 
 
 Feel thou my hand, my cheek, my brain ; 
 
 But soon I may be mad again. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis best that I am here. 
 
 For in these walls no shame, no fear 
 
 I know ; yet oft a gush of crimson tide 
 
 Betrays the thoughts I fain would hide — 
 
 Then like Mazeppa's bounding steed 
 
 Mad thoughts from out my sjDirit speed — 
 
 And then they say I am mad. Indeed, 
 
 It must be so. No, do not start — 
 
 I only thought I saw them part 
 
 As on that fatal night in June, 
 
 When, like some phantom of the moon, 
 
 I followed ; but a cloud full soon 
 
 The heavens o'erspread — the coming doom 
 
 Portending. 
 
 91 
 
92 gh« W^KA-'Wiom^n's ^aU. 
 
 In tracks yet warm 
 My tender feet and half-clad form 
 The growing dew-drops pressed. 
 
 The storm 
 Like some vile demon howled. A gleam 
 The livid lightning threw between. 
 I saw her head where mine had been 
 Just one short hour before. Behind 
 The streets a river ran. The wind 
 Uncivil, mad, wretched, unkind. 
 Tore through my screening hair — I whined, 
 For all my sickened soul I swear 
 Was bursting from my eyes. What, there ! 
 I see them now, the lattice thin, 
 Poor shield if I would enter in. 
 Such liberty as men may brook 
 Upon the wanton sylph he took 
 Till I — I shrieked in pain. His ring 
 From off my hand I tore — to fling — 
 And from that golden band the blood 
 Was dropping in a crimson flood. 
 The band itself had burst. And still 
 One parting kiss she dared drink in. 
 "Thy last," I shrieked — the lattice thin 
 Gave way beneath my power. I flung 
 Her lightly to the waves. She hung 
 Like some fair lily there — a splash — 
 I felt the murderers' stinging lash. 
 
'I snu! her hcmJ iflicrc mini' had hern 
 Jiixt ont' iilinii li'iiir hefiiri'/^ 
 
Instinctively my hands I drew 
 
 O'er my poor head — a clammy dew 
 
 Had gathered there. Oh 1 Night, how kind 
 
 To clothe in darkness then my mind. 
 
 We grappled then — I know not how — 
 
 I killed him — oh I am I mad now? 
 
 At night when storms false lovers hide 
 
 Again I throw them in the tide. 
 
 Seest thou yon cloud? Tho' iron bands 
 
 Like black and charred bony hands 
 
 O'erspread my window there — Can they 
 
 Love's sweet delirium hold — delay 
 
 This fever in my tortured brain — 
 
 False tricksters, ye should bear the pain. 
 
 Love's warm red rose, can I forget — 
 
 The torn and bleeding flower regret. 
 
 Go, friend, the storm an angry flood 
 
 Has loosed. I taste the sweet warm blood. 
 
 Lethargy of despair, awake ! 
 
 This tumult hush, this fever slake. 
 
 Dark grows the night ; I see them take 
 
 One last voluptuous kiss. Ah I soon 
 
 Thy false proud heart shall sing its tune 
 
 To sylph beneath the waves. The moon 
 
 Has turned to blood ; the stars are drowned. 
 
 God's living fire leaps o'er the ground 
 
 In search of lovers false — to brand 
 
94 ^lie W^^a^WLonxKn's ^^It. 
 
 To scourge, to fire — their graves shall stand 
 Like charnel-houses, hideous, grand. 
 At night — no more — dead, dead, I 'ra glad — 
 The chains, the chains, I 'm mad, I 'm mad. 
 
THE WRECK OF THE MAINE. 
 
 A crash, and with a panting breath 
 
 A flame that belched forth blood and death 
 
 Sweeps our brave ship that anchored lay 
 
 Within a treacherous Spanish bay ; 
 
 And mingled with those waves so black 
 
 Three hundred sailors feel the wrack 
 
 Of murderous powder, shot and shell, 
 
 Conceived in Madrid or in Hell. 
 
 Amid the seething water's roar 
 
 A hundred sailors swim for shore — 
 
 The shore is reached, with tearful groan 
 
 The foremost swimmer swims alone. 
 
 'T were vain to tell of valor done ; 
 We know our boys, each valiant son — 
 Brave lads, whose good-byes had been said 
 With touch of cap and gallant tread 
 To man the glorious mighty Maine — 
 To meet those loved ones ne'er again. 
 Each dying soldier, as he passed 
 Life's gateway, held with fearful grasp 
 And backward flung that portal wide — 
 So small a span two worlds divide. 
 95 
 
96 ^Ixje WixzcK ot tlije pCaitxjc. 
 
 Ten thousand souls with fait 'ring breath 
 Came trooping down that road of death — 
 With song of hope, in numbers strong, 
 In seried rank they marched along 
 And entered that wide-open shrine 
 Above whose arch was written "Time." 
 From out the battlements of Heaven 
 As from an earthly rampart riven 
 Went forth a tearful sigh — a groan — 
 " Ye weep, but ye weep not alone." 
 Oh, martyred dead ! ten thousand graves 
 Are freshly filled with Cuban slaves. 
 And red with carnage still is spread 
 The soil above those slaughtered dead. 
 A myriad, hollow, human eyes 
 Each morning bless the flag that flies 
 Where yon proud vessel rears her head, 
 A wreck, alas ! but never dead. 
 Weird shadowy vapors o'er her creep — 
 She 's foundered in an ocean deep, 
 Of groans and sighs and children's tears- 
 Sad relics of the tyrant's years. 
 
 As sunshine follows after rain, 
 
 So shall free Cuba laugh at Spain ; 
 
 For there 's a land not far away 
 
 That ne'er will brook the tyrant's sway. 
 
^Ixe WivtcK xrf ttxz l^aittje. 97 
 
 Our dogs-of-war, with stealthy grace, 
 
 The bloody murderer's refuge trace ; 
 
 And, stretching in the leash to-day, 
 
 Are foaming, fretting for the fray. 
 
 Consult no more when duty calls 
 
 And blood-red war hangs o'er our walls. 
 
 Nor honor trust, nor deep contrition, 
 
 That starves men to a slave's submission — 
 
 This is not war, all men decree, 
 
 "War's art is lost in butchery. 
 
 If comes not forth the culprit wild 
 
 Like some poor, guilty, wretched child, 
 
 Swift reparation pleads to make — 
 
 In Mercy's name, for Justice' sake, 
 
 God grant not satiate they '11 be 
 
 'Till torn and bleeding Cuba 's free. 
 
 Then proud Madrid shall entertain 
 
 The ghosts of sailors of the Maine ; 
 
 A chilling blast, a world's disdain, 
 
 'Till shakes the gilded throne of Spain. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The fight is o'er, as sinks to rest 
 The gilded sun a-down the west, 
 The warrior sleeps in peace to-night, 
 And dreams of smoke and fire and fight. 
 He hears again, in dreams at dawn, 
 The storming rush that took San Juan ; 
 
98 ^hjc WLvcclx jcrf tfiz pCaittje. 
 
 And heaves a sigh, both wild and deep, 
 For those that fell in pallid sleep. 
 Dream, dream no more of warriors slain — 
 Awake ! nor live it o'er again. 
 
 That cry for freedom crossed the sea 
 
 And bounded o'er the prairies free. 
 
 It loosed the heart welled in for years, 
 
 It melted eyes unknown to tears — 
 
 That cry was Hope's last wild despair, 
 
 Carried by winds on tranquil air. 
 
 The startled universe awoke ; 
 
 From hills and plains the circling smoke 
 
 Of camp-fires' holy mellow light 
 
 Made dim the day, illumed the night. 
 
 Our mothers' sons, north, south, east, west. 
 
 As brothers marched— one throbbing breast ; 
 
 And o'er the solid phalanx driven 
 
 Streamed out the stars and stripes toward 
 
 Heaven. 
 The farmer lad and millionaire 
 Together shared a soldier's fare, 
 And friendships on an alien shore 
 Grew tender, true, welded by war. 
 Like magic, bristling ships-of-war, 
 By Neptune driven from shore to shore. 
 Rode proud the waves in quest of prey> 
 And found and slew them in a day. 
 
^ftjc WivzcK jcrf the IftaittJC. 99 
 
 Manila bay, her waves rolled red 
 
 With burning ships and mangled dead. 
 
 Those who once loosed the tyrant's reign 
 
 For mercy plead — nor plead in vain. 
 
 In festal robes, the royal beast, 
 
 The God-of-War scarce left the feast 
 
 Ere on a nearer, fairer shore 
 
 A master-guest, he sought for more. 
 
 'Twas then our men like Titans fought, 
 
 Fought hand to hand, nor quarter sought. 
 
 Three days beneath a tropic sun 
 
 Our heroes fought, and one by one 
 
 They died as soldiers die — alone. 
 
 Jove, by his champing thunders drawn. 
 
 Beheld the fight that took San Juan, 
 
 And drove with quickened pace and rein — 
 
 To Santiago's palmed plain. 
 
 For ne'er beheld the eyes of Jove 
 
 Such matchless men — such human love. 
 
 For days they held the war-dogs back 
 
 From off the plain and bloody track, 
 
 Lest unawares with all the dross 
 
 The innocent might suffer loss. 
 
 Then at command the booming gun 
 
 Told of a battle well begun. 
 
 On land, on sea, like mad-men driven 
 
 They woke the dreaming courts of heaven. 
 
100 ^lije WivtcVi fxt thz pCalnc. 
 
 The screeching shells plowed side by side — 
 The treacherous wounds they could not hide. 
 Down went the ships with all on board, 
 With lightning flash the cannons roared. 
 Save, save the boys ; a hundred throats 
 Begged for a place to man the boats. 
 Quailed Spanish hearts unused to fear, 
 They dreamed not that a friend was near. 
 The God of War had touched the cup 
 The God of Love so quick filled up. 
 God bless the soldier. Love hath bought, 
 To save the foeman that he fought. 
 These human temples reared from dust 
 God's pinnacles if they be just. 
 And won indeed in heart is he 
 If lost in such a victory. 
 
 Let poets rave of Titans old, 
 Of plumed knights, of warriors bold, 
 Of Caesar's might, of Charlemagne, 
 A thousand tyrants' bloody reign ; 
 But not for these shall Fate inspire 
 The songs of peace — the virgin lyre — 
 That floods the world with Light to-day — 
 America ! America ! ! 
 
I'opiiriiiht hi/ S. S. MrClitrc Co. 
 
 ^ And hleir ten Ihonndml tlmumnd ruhlr ffd 
 Into eternal sp(i<r.'^ 
 
VESUVIUS. 
 A Living Fire. 
 
 Scarce half a century bridged the Christian 
 
 world, 
 When, like some wild disgruntled monster 
 
 brute, 
 Shaking his tangled mane and breathing 
 
 death, 
 With nostrils all aflame, thou giant Mount, 
 Didst fright all Italy. 
 
 In superstitious fear 
 Men whispered Ioav and deemed the vengeful 
 
 gods 
 Defiance hurled towards heaven. 
 
 Romans were slaves 
 To Nero's sensuous whims. Each morning's 
 
 light 
 Fell on the Tiber's dead. Too rich the feast 
 In human flesh and blood. The river rolled 
 In agony of deeply troubled rest. 
 And cast her victims on the shore. The 
 
 moons 
 Scarce marked the days when from their 
 
 throats 
 A thousand shrieked of burning Rome. The 
 
 heavens 
 
 101 
 
102 ^tsnviins. 
 
 Foretold the fearful doom. The human torch 
 Provoked a monarch's smile. To music 
 
 grand 
 He watched the souls of men take flight. 
 The feast was grand — a bloody banquet wild, 
 And thro' that smoke blazed pictures weird 
 
 and gray 
 The Christian world still gaze upon. 
 
 Oh! Rome! 
 The heavens from thee took gorgeous color- 
 ings 
 That ne'er shall fade from thy fair orient 
 
 skies, 
 Nor yet forgotten be, while history endures. 
 'T was then the gladiators, gods enslaved, 
 Held captive in the fiery mountain's breast, 
 Shook out the robes of deepest night, and 
 
 fought 
 To hide the bloody, shameless scene. They 
 
 strove 
 For just one hour of heavenly liberty. 
 Their mutterings and threats of discontent 
 Startled the fishermen on Naples Bay, 
 Who stole away, not knowing why or where. 
 Like fleeting shadows follow wandering 
 
 clouds. 
 For Nero's eyes that courted scenes like 
 
 these, 
 
^esxttrhts. 103 
 
 And for his lips so soon to taste of blood, 
 For his strong arm that hugged to shame and 
 
 death 
 The curtain fast came down ; and from the 
 
 throne, 
 Pursued a wretched outcast, renegade, 
 He fled. He whom nor blood, nor tears, nor 
 
 pain, 
 Nor agonizing death could pity bring. 
 Crouched low and writhed in fear, ere thro' 
 
 his heart 
 He pushed the coward's blade. 
 
 His shriveled soul, 
 A dwarf of hideous form, by unseen power, 
 Went groveling hills among, like dull gray 
 
 smoke, 
 Till o'er Vesuvius' moth — akin — 
 She yawned and took the nameless monster 
 
 in. 
 Vesuvius, thou monster charnel grand. 
 Thou art the home of gods where orgies hold 
 Thy revelers a century entranced. 
 Thy deep infernal pit belched forth the fires 
 Of angry god's desires. 
 
 Yet kind thou art 
 To hang the warning pine tree on the skies, 
 Fiery and defiant, ere from thy brow 
 Streams of hot lava flow. 
 
104 ^jestiwius. 
 
 Ten thousand souls 
 Lie buried at thy feet. Brave Oscan lads 
 Or Umbrian maids who watched the pur- 
 pling vine 
 Famed in proud Rome for virgin purity ; 
 And tillers of the soil, who heeded not 
 Thy outstretched arms of fire. 
 
 The years roll by — 
 Forgotten are the buried dead. The place 
 Time changed to matchless green. Vine- 
 yards o'erspread 
 The grand old mountain-side. The classic 
 
 Greek 
 Here built his summer home. Here gor- 
 geous barks, 
 Like graceful swans, floated at day's decline ; 
 And lovers 'neath the arching canopies, 
 Or in the vineyard, field or sheltered glen, 
 Blushed crimson at the hinted words of love. 
 Aye ! time may change, but love is still the 
 
 same — 
 A lamp whose light is never dim ; a staff 
 Old age may use and know no weariness. 
 Men builded here an amphitheater, 
 "Where gladiators fought in regal pomp 
 And bathed their limbs in essence of wild 
 
 flowers, 
 Sunshine, ozone and woman's glances, free. 
 
^jcsuwius. 105 
 
 About the ring were beauties gathered far, 
 "Whose flashing eyes a wild contagion threw 
 On all their rivals there. 
 
 In litters grand 
 Outside fair Pompeii's walls the revelers 
 
 came, 
 In gilded pomp from Herculaneum, too. 
 Knights and their ladies fair, to mingle in 
 One round of festive sports ; to laugh, to> 
 
 cheer, 
 To wreath the victor in their smiles, and 
 
 bear 
 Him from the ring on shoulders strong. 
 The hum of voices from the waiting crowd 
 Rose like a wild discordant harmony. 
 Scarce could they hear, when from a native 
 
 bard 
 Words ran in rippling dreamy cadences. 
 He closed in lines prophetic, grand, nor 
 
 dreamed 
 His eyes should see his words fulfilled : 
 
 Drink ! to-day, there 's no to-morrow ! 
 
 Drink ! tho' suns forget to shine — 
 Drink ! and deign a laugh to borrow. 
 
 Drink a health to thine and mine. 
 
106 '^zsnvius. 
 
 Drink ! to-day, there 's no to-morrow ! 
 
 Drink to all the gods divine — 
 Drink ! and drown the coming sorrow, 
 
 Drink the blood-red fiery wine. 
 
 Red wine they drank, with fire in every 
 
 cup. 
 Dark languid beauties tripped the orient 
 
 dance 
 In trailing robes, like to the painted myths 
 Their raptured eyes oft gazed upon in Rome. 
 Or wilder still, the more voluptuous nymphs 
 Fair Pompeiis' walls adorned. 
 
 Half-mad they laughed, 
 They swayed, they sang. The gladiators 
 
 met. 
 Men shouted wild and women craned with 
 
 pride 
 Such brawn and sterling manhood rich to 
 
 see. 
 A boom — and silence, like a river ran 
 Over the multitude. Bronzed faces paled, 
 And every eye beheld the mountains glare. 
 The earth trembled and women shrieking 
 
 fell, 
 And children lost in that mad human tide 
 Begged piteously for help that never came. 
 
'^zsnmus. 107 
 
 The walls were rent, and creaking shook. 
 
 Afar 
 Blazed out the vineyard and the home. 
 
 Like leaves 
 The ashes in a tempest whirled and fell 
 Blinding the fleeing crowds. 
 
 Three miles in air 
 The lurid pine-tree stood. Ten thousand 
 
 tears, 
 Prayers, oaths and shrieks ascended unto 
 
 Jove ; 
 Aflfrighted birds swift-winged to distant 
 
 skies ; 
 Man, only man, weaker than dropping tears, 
 Remained and clung to all the toil of years. 
 In thy deep travail. Mount of frenzied 
 
 gods. 
 Still belched thou forth the fiery molten 
 
 stream, 
 'Till valleys filled and wanton war waged 
 
 wild, 
 'Twixt thee and distant troubled seething 
 
 waves. 
 While thus engaged, the gods, infuriate, 
 Still pent in thy hot walls, one blast gave 
 
 out 
 And blew ten thousand thousand cubic feet 
 Into eternal space. 
 
108 'Vesuvius. 
 
 Gloom settled down 
 Like a black mantle flung about the dead. 
 Loud roared the mighty mountain in his 
 rage, 
 And quickly cast from out his tortured side 
 A thousand swords of flame. 
 
 The demons howled — 
 The lurid glare showed pale and weird and 
 
 gray 
 A pantomime of frenzied human forms. 
 
 "When Day came trailing through that dismal 
 
 land, 
 No more found she the gladiator-maid — 
 Nor even yet the highest column's brow 
 To mark where fair Pompeii had been. 
 About Vesuvius' woeful smoking mouth 
 The molten stream rolled thick with twisted 
 
 forms — 
 Distorted gods, repulsive, blackened, torn. 
 Rolled slowly down the grizzled mountain- 
 side ; 
 And by this blast, this roaring, seething 
 
 blast. 
 Ten thousand conquered Neros hell threw 
 
 out, 
 And buried cities 'neath the ashes gray 
 Of lightened furnaces. 
 
C„l,!irliilil 1,11 X- S. MrClin-r f'n. 
 
 "Di^lnrlnl <in,ls. npnhiir, },lnrk,iird, torn, 
 Ilollcd i^Jowlij ihnrii tlic (/rizzlcil niuinitdiii xidi 
 And Irij fjilx hka^f, tltlx ronrliKj, xectliiiHj hhiM, 
 Till llioiifiand roiKjiifiril Nt'rox Jifll llirrii- out.' 
 
9$tsnvins, 109 
 
 Strange cataclysm, 
 That melted flint four miles away, and yet 
 The monster's heart hath never touched, 
 
 thro' years 
 Of this great cauldron's thundering. 
 
 Men say 
 That ghosts of eld here sob, and wail, and 
 
 weep 
 O'er these grim walls, that ne'er again shall be 
 Homes of a living race. 
 
 Well hast thou slept, 
 Licentious Greek, for near two thousand 
 
 years. 
 Thy winding-sheet to-day men lift, and gaze 
 
 On thy unbroken sleep. 
 
 With vineyards green 
 The mountain-side again her vintage brings 
 To native bard in lava hut beguiled. 
 In village streets the dark-eyed maiden sings 
 And combs her midnight hair, forgetful e'er 
 Of pillored doom, that like a mournful plume 
 Waves arms of smoke by day, of fire by 
 
 night. 
 
 The day will come when all our buried 
 
 dead 
 And molten forms shall wake to throbbing 
 
 life. 
 
110 '^tsnvlns. 
 
 With all the earth and pulsing, foaming 
 
 seas, 
 The mountain shall her giant prisoners free. 
 The fishermen again shall startled flee, 
 And time shall be no more. 
 
 Long buried joys 
 Shall resurrected be ; and Hope shall walk 
 With sweet Reality. 
 
 'Though long entombed 
 We shall be free, and in His likeness wake. 
 
o = 
 
ANGEL OF LIGHT. 
 
 Angel of Light, I come to thee ; 
 Thou art life in life to me. 
 Born 'neath the cross and diadem — 
 Beautiful star of Bethlehem. 
 
 Angel of Light, tho' tossed by storm, 
 'Midst life's waves I see thy form, 
 Holding high thy signal bright. 
 Radiant hope — my Angel of Light. 
 
 Angel of Light, thy mission is here 
 To cheer the shipwrecked mariner ; 
 To calm the storm, direct the oar. 
 Where 's never a lighthouse on the shore. 
 
 Angel of Light, my soul to cheer, 
 Hear my prayer ! me hear, oh, hear ! 
 God hath sent thee, guardian sprite ; 
 Speed with my message. Angel of Light ! 
 Ill 
 
112 J^tt0«X of ^iQU, 
 
 Bright as of yore that star I see, 
 Bethlehem dreamed of the days to be ; 
 When o'er Death's river that Light shall 
 
 shine, 
 Star of my hope, oh ! Angel of mine ! 
 
PRESS NOTICES 
 
PRESS NOTICES. 
 
 " Ida Eckert Lawrence has captured eastern literary 
 circles with her poetry. "While western people com- 
 plimented the genius of Miss Eckert highly, they never 
 appreciated it as thoroughly as it deserved. Genius 
 should never remain at home." — Kansas City Times. 
 
 " Ida Eckert Lawrence is one the brightest ladies of 
 of the state, and added to that she is gifted with a happy 
 disposition and a great faculty for cultivating personal 
 friendships." — Eagle. 
 
 " Ida Eckert Lawrence, * The Ohio Poetess,* has won 
 considerable fame in the literary world by her poetic 
 productions. She is a writer of verse and short stories, 
 and possesses literary talent of a high order." — Columbus 
 I}ispaich. 
 
 "She has contributed many beautiful lines to east- 
 em papers and magazines. Her poem, ' Sweetheart of 
 Mine,' was extensively copied, and her reply to Eiley, 
 ' I Never Slep' a Wink,' attracted much attention. She 
 was acquainted with the late Eugene Field, and com- 
 piled a splendid article for the press on that famous 
 journalist." — Galveston News. 
 
 " Not until of late has Mrs. Lawrence been accorded 
 a public criticism on her production on Cuba. Of this 
 poem Edgar Fawcett is quoted as writing : 'Among other 
 verse on Cuba one comes to mind as a gem of beauty 
 and poetical accuracy.' " — Toledo Commercial. 
 115 
 
116 ipvjcss ^jcrtijcjes. 
 
 " She is a charming writer of short stories, and her 
 poems, which are widely copied, are full of tenderness 
 and beauty." — Gossip. 
 
 "This estimable young woman is of a poetic nature 
 and romantic disposition. She has figured as heroine in 
 several books. She has the lovely dark eyes of the 
 south " — Eugene Field in Chicago Record. 
 
 " Ida Eckert Lawrence is a writer of verse and short 
 stories, for which she finds a ready market in eastern 
 papers. She is as pleasing a conversationalist as she is 
 a writer." — Atchison Champion. 
 
 " Ida Eckert Lawrence, the well-known and favorite 
 poet, is of a delightful personality, and charming in every 
 way. She possesses literary talent of a high order. Her 
 poems have been quoted far and wide. They breathe 
 the true feeling of a tender, sympathetic nature, and are 
 graceful in form and beautiful in their wealth of fervid 
 imagery. 
 
 " From her youth she has had the happy faculty of 
 clothing her thoughts in the garments of poesy. She 
 has written innumerable tales and poems, all showing 
 the possession of a vivid imagination, a remarkable 
 command of language, a complete sympathy with na- 
 ture in all her varying moods. Many of her poems, full 
 of tender sentiment or touching pathos, have had the 
 distinction of ' going the rounds ' of the press, a tribute 
 to their worth that only a successful writer can fully ap- 
 preciate. . . . She embodies that rare combination — 
 a poet and a womanly woman." — Toledo Blade. 
 
 " I like your songs. They are of the heart, and 
 your themes are close to human life in its sweet and 
 homely phases. May the gods send your ship favoring 
 breezes." — Robert J. Burdette. 
 
^vtss ^ottjcjes. 117 
 
 " She has achieved some success as a -writer — her 
 verses and short stories having appeared in the Inter- 
 Ocean and other eastern papers ; two short poems of 
 which she can be especially proud are ' ^Sweetheart of 
 Mine ' and 'At the Beach ;' another is, ' I Never Slep' a 
 Wink." — Kansas City Star. 
 
 "Ida Eckert Lawrence is winning laurels in the 
 literary world by her poems as well as by her prose 
 productions. 
 
 " One of her best poems is, her answer to Riley's 
 ' How Did You Rest Last Night ? ' entitled, ' I Never 
 Slep' a Wink.' 
 
 '" Eugene Field was greatly attracted by her works, 
 and referred to them in his Sharps and Flats column in 
 a most complimentary manner." — Sunday Journal. 
 
 " Mrs. Lawrence recited three of her poems last 
 night, which have never appeared in print — ' Payin' the 
 Mortgage,' a recent conception, 'Toots,' and 'Sleep on. 
 Little Boy." 
 
 " She gave ' Sweetheart of Mine ' as an opening 
 number, and it is one of her best. It breathes a sweet- 
 ness and tenderness with a ftsint note of sadness that is 
 beautiful indeed, and was most admirably recited by the 
 author. 
 
 " * Payin' the Mortgage ' is rich in human interest, 
 describing the cares and struggles of a large-hearted, 
 honest old farmer, the strong tie between himself and 
 his daughter, a firm, loving girl, and how they pay off 
 the mortgage. 
 
 "'Day Dreams' is a pretty, ethereal, little thing; 
 ' Toots,' a delightful rhyming of the baby ; ' Monette,' 
 a little love dream ; ' Pontiac's Lookout,' a rather stronger 
 poem ; and last, ' The Maine,' a description of the strug- 
 gle which resulted in the destruction of the ' Maine.' 
 
118 '^xtss ^tstUts. 
 
 " It is positive and masterful, and a fine -word 
 picture." — Toledo Commercial. 
 
 " Ida Eckert Lawrence, a well known writer of short 
 stories and poems, is a former Richland county girl who 
 has achieved note as a writer. She is about to bring out 
 a volume of her poems. The newspapers speak very 
 highly, not only of her genius as a poet, but also of her 
 art as an elocutionist. ... In this county, her child- 
 hood home, her friends note with great pleasure and 
 pride the reputation she has achieved as a writer of 
 poems. She had a notable honor conferred upon her in 
 Chicago, to which the Blade thus refers: 'Ida Eckert 
 Lawrence, the famous Toledo poet, was one of the guests 
 at the Union League Club luncheon in honor of Presi- 
 dent McKinley and his cabinet. . . . After the 
 luncheon there was a reception, at which she was intro- 
 duced to the President as the Ohio poet.' " — Mansfield 
 News. 
 
 " She writes as the flowers bloom, as the birds sing ; 
 not to outward solicitation, but to inward poetic impulse 
 and inspiration, so her lines breathe the true spirit of 
 poetry. Her poem on "Vesuvius" is vividly imagina- 
 tive, and glows with splendor of language. — John Reid 
 Shannon, D.D.